Baldy of Nome eBook

The fact that Tom, Dick, and Harry had been in every
one of those unique dashes across the snow-swept wastes
of Seward Peninsula, from Bering Sea to the Arctic
Ocean and return, and had never been “out of
the money,” did not count greatly in his rigid
code. The same distance covered slowly by freighters
in pursuance of their task of earning their daily
living would seem to him far more worthy of respect
and emulation. And so, when the Tolman brothers,
who were apt to be quarrelsome with those “not
in their class,” showed a coldness toward Baldy
that threatened to break into open hostility at the
slightest excuse, Dubby promptly ranged himself on
the side of the newcomer with a firmness that impressed
even Tom, Dick, and Harry with a determination to
be at least discreet if not courteous.

They had learned, with all of the others in the Kennel,
to treat with a studied politeness—­even
deference—­the wonderful old Huskie whose
supremacy as a leader had become a Tradition of the
North; and who was still in fighting trim should cause
for trouble arise. He did not rely alone on his
past achievements, which were many and brilliant, but
he maintained a reputation for ever-ready power which
is apt to give immunity from attack.

Dubby’s attitude toward the Racers generally
was galling in the extreme. Usually he ignored
them completely, turning his back upon them when they
were being harnessed, and apparently oblivious of their
very existence; except as such times when he felt
that they needed suggestions as to their behavior.

There was, in a way, a certain injustice in Dubby’s
contempt for what might be called the sporting element
of the stable; for, like college athletes, they were
only sports incidentally, and for the greater part
of the year they were as ready and willing to do a
hard day’s work in carrying goods to the creeks
as were the more commonplace dogs who had never won
distinction on the Trail.

But Dubby was ultra-conservative; and while “Scotty”
must have had some strange human reason for all of
these silly dashes with an absolutely empty sled,
in his opinion hauling a boiler up to Hobson Creek
would be a far more efficacious means of exercise,
and would be a practical accomplishment besides.
Dubby was of a generation that knew not racing.
Of noted McKenzie River parentage, he came from Dawson,
where he was born, down the Yukon to Nome with “Scotty”
Allan. He had led a team of his brothers and
sisters, six in all, the entire distance of twelve
hundred miles, early manifesting that definite acknowledged
mastery over the others that is indispensable in a
good leader. He had realized what it meant to
be a Pioneer, had penetrated with daring men the waste
places in search of fame, fortune and adventure; and
had carried the heavy burdens of gold wrested from
rock-ribbed mountain, and bouldered river bed.
He had helped to take the United States Mail to remote
and inaccessible districts, and had sped with the
Doctor and Priest to the bedside of the sick or dying
in distant, lonely cabins.